I don't hate you
by Natalie River
Summary: When Snape sees Harry he sees James and it hurts. Set from Harry's fifth year onwards. AU. Trigger warning for self harm/suicidal ideations. Neville starts to decode the sweet wrappers he keeps being given and Harry starts to realise that there's something wrong with him.
1. Chapter 1

"You hate me just like you hated my father!"

Snape turned on him, the mask he wore so magnificently in front of the Dark Lord slipping for just a second. Merlin the _child _could do what the Dark Lord could not. His guard shouldn't have been down, not near Potter, not near anyone. Of course he always shielded his thoughts, but he had to school his expressions as well. What good would it be if his mind was as protected as Hogwarts (which didn't seem to be protected very well these days) if his face was as open as a quidditch pitch.

"I do not _hate _you Mr. Potter," he said coldly, his knuckles whitening as the grip on his wand tightened.

He didn't hate the boy. He couldn't hate him despite how much easier it would be. Harry Potter, Lily and James's son.

If he hadn't been such a fool, such a heartless fool. A fully fledged Death Eater by nineteen, pretending to devour their drivel because it meant he belonged, it meant he was _important. _He was only responsible for two deaths, he knew that. It was a cruel kind of justice that made those two deaths _them._

"Sit down Mr. Potter," Snape turned away. "You will remain behind when everyone else leaves and you will remake the potion."

"No!"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor!" he span on his heel. "Sit down Mr. Potter."

A whisper was spreading through the class like a forest fire, first slowly and quietly then from seemingly nowhere Gryffindors and Slytherins alike were craning their necks and abandoning their cauldrons to see what the Potions Master would do.

"There was nothing wrong with my original potion, you-"

Hermione tugged at his arm, her face red as she hissed at him to sit down. Her eyes were round with fear and awe. "Please-"

"Mate just leave-"

"You're just like Umbridge you know," Harry shoved the desk hard knocking over his empty cauldron (for Snape had removed the potion) and sloshing Hermione's all over the text books. "My Dad and his mates were teenagers and so were you! How the hell can you still hate them? You're always picking on me, always hurting me. You're not a Death Eater but you sure as hell act like one!"

A gasp ran through the classroom. Malfoy chuckled softly and a few Slytherins grinned in anticipation of the bollocking Potter was about to get.

Snape took a steadying breath. A Muggle upbringing shone through in the boy's nature. Any child magically raised who was so angry, so furious that their fists clenched and they squared up to an authority a figure, a teacher _(a teacher like him) _would have drawn their wand already. Or perhaps that was just the kind of child he was.

Tears were brimming in the boy's eyes and Snape didn't like it. The defiance was easier to deface. Waterworks weren't dealable because you were meant to be understanding and you were meant to listen and if he was meant to be pretending to be a bloody spy for the Dark Lord he had to pretend to be Dumbledore's lapdog and if he was pretending to be Dumbledore's lapdog he had to at least do his job.

It was hard, as the mask grew more complicated. Keeping enough hatred of Potter so it was believable for You-Know-Who but keeping teachery enough so that it was also believable. Not getting too carried away in his role and nt getting too carried away in his "I'm Dumbledore's bloody submissive" role. So many bloody lies...

"Out!" he exclaimed.

Potter lifted his head as if he was only just hearing the professor speak.

"All of you!" cried Snape with a flick of his wand and a spell muttered under his breath for the nonverbal was simply too much energy he turned and strode to the front of the class. "You're dismissed! I want three feet on the proper etiquette in the classroom and why any of you incompetent brats should be allowed anywhere near a potions laboratory in the future! Potter _sit down._"

Malfoy stared at his cauldron. "Professor I worked for two hours on-"

"Twenty points from Slytherin Mr. Malfoy," Snape sat down behind his desk. "Get out."

Ron who'd been sharing a desk with Neville glanced at Harry who shook his head. Hermione shoved her burnt text book into her bag and gave Harry a pitying look before he moved _go _to her. She and Ron were the last two to leave and they lingered at the doorway.

"Miss. Granger, Mr. Weasley I do not intend to bump off Mr. Potter here and now and if I did I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would be the first to stop me. Two teenage wizards aren't. Goodbye," he snapped his fingers and the door slammed shut.

"You might be labouring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you," Snape hissed, "but they're _not_. Pretences have to be kept up. Are you so ignorant that you can't see that?"

Harry said nothing, instead he stared directly at his hands and wished he was somewhere else.

Snape stood from his desk, straightened his robes and walked slowly in between the desks, all left in a state of frenzy, ingredients scattered across surfaces, notes left behind in the hurry to leave.

"Answer me Potter."

Rearing his head he shook it and began to laugh, his eyes watching the professor from beneath his dark fringe. "What would you know about pretences?" he asked, his voice breaking. "What would you know about pretending to know what the hell's going on while Dumbledore wants you to save the bloody world. What would you know?"

"You have an Occlumency lesson tonight, I expect you here," he found his voice growing slightly softer, the edge fading. "If you care anything for your mother's sacrifice, for your father-"

"What the hell did you care for them?" Harry demanded. Now he was on his feet again pointing a finger at the man's chest. "Why the hell am I supposed to trust you?"

"Because if my loyalties didn't lie where they do," snarled Snape. "You and your little friends would be dead thrice over. I will always do what I can to protect you Potter, I know the Dark Lord has returned, and I swear to you I will not let your parents' or anyone else's death in the struggle to defeat him have been in vain."

"If you hate me so much why didn't you let Quirrell kill me at my first quidditch match?"

Snape felt as if he were going round in circles. The insolent child wasn't listening. He felt the skin of his arm prickle, the dark mark (he refused to capitalise it in his mind, he was trying to do the same to the Dark Lord's title and failing miserably) was growing stronger and stronger each day. A constant reminder of the little boy playing gangster.

He was like the boy who watched the kitten being tortured begging that the bigger boys put it out of its misery. The Dark Lord was the one doing the torturing, Lucius and Bellatrix joining in, laughing and poking at the poor creature with sticks. But they always turned to the watcher and asked if he'd like a go, and he couldn't say no and it got so hard to say no and he wanted out but he didn't know what to do and he was so scared and-

_He wanted his Mother. But that was just instinct. His mother had never comforted him in her life. _

"I never hated your father boy, I never hated your father's friends. We weren't on the best of terms," he sighed, "but I never hated them. I did things I wasn't proud of and so did he. James Potter was an arrogant, foolish man. But I-"

_I went to Dumbledore for help, I wanted out, I didn't want to go to meetings anymore and watch them and...I wanted to help people. I didn't want to hurt anyone. _

"I'm a spy for the Order of the Phoenix, I attend the Dark Lord's meetings and I report back. That is why it's another reason that it's important that you learn to shield your mind, my life is dispensable, but my position in their ranks is not," he paused. "Potter I am not speaking to you as a child now, I am speaking to you as a young adult though you are not. You have the weight of the wizarding world on your shoulders but I will not make acceptances, however I will be slightly lenient. I know you don't like me Mr. Potter but the enemy of thy enemy is thy friend."

Harry felt his lip begin to tremble. He glanced around the empty classroom, searching for anything to focus his eyes on than the gaze of the strict professor. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed and let the woman he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised comfort him softly.

Snape felt a strange feeling that felt almost like _happiness _creep over him as tears flooded the boy's eyes again, Lily's eyes. It wasn't that he enjoyed seeing the boy so distraught, he hated it, but nostalgia came with the tears. He remembered Lily's tears of joy when she found out she was pregnant, he remembered James (that same face, the face that stared at him now), telling him not to come anywhere near them until he'd got himself _clean. _

Such a strange word, as if associating with the Dark Lord made him dirty. If anyone was dirty it was Umbridge. The _bitch _didn't deserve to be anywhere near children. He'd seen the punishments and he'd do what he could to disturb them, demanding that he needed people to scrub cauldrons and scour the stone floor. He needed people to collect herbs in the forest ("Unless you don't want me to be able to brew up more potions for you Ma'am!").

Playing with the child, clapping his hands together as Lily watched delighted. Already he was working for Dumbledore, who vowed they were safe. But no matter what the Dark Lord couldn't know the truth, he couldn't know about the feelings Snape had for...for... He remembered holding James's hand as Harry whizzed around on a toy broomstick almost colliding with the poor cat.

The boy had definitely inherited Lily's attitude, gentle and likeable but so free spirited. Lily didn't want to be tied down to a man, she was happy to carry James's child. Their child. Happy to play mother if James wanted to play father. James and him. She loved and would have loved him, she would have been proud of him-

"...so proud of you," he whispered. Silently he summoned a potion from his personal supply and caught it with ease. He handed it to the boy. "Calming potion, believe me, I'm only allowed to poison a handful of pupils per term, quota to fill and what not. Especially since we've got the ministry itself here."

Harry almost laughed, his hand shook as he took the vial and uncorked it sniffing it cautiously. But he wouldn't have known if it was a poison or not, and if it was Snape wasn't exactly going to give him one that smelt like death. Had the professor actually cracked a _joke_?

"I believe the bell just went, I will inform- Professor Flitwick is it you have next? That you've been taken ill and are resting. Just make sure you're here tonight and in Defence Against the Dark Arts in the morning. And don't be late."

Harry stood open vial held tightly in his hand. "I'm...I'm not ill Professor."

It sounded almost as if he'd jumped to denial too quickly. Quite frankly there were different types of ill and some of them were more tricky than others. The staff had been waiting for breakdowns since the first year, especially since summer, since the Triwizard tournament, since Cedric.

"I know, but since when did you have trouble lying to teachers?" he asked, trying to sound cynical and smirkish but instead it came out as he truly intended it to, sort of jovial.

Harry paused, the scars on the back of his hand that held the vial red against the white tightness of his skin. In his other hand he'd grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Thank you Professor," he murmured downing the vial's contents and handing it back.

He was gone before Snape realised it and soon he was returning the vial to where he put all the used vials for cleaning, in a pile labelled _first year detention. _They tended to have skinny enough fingers to treat the things gently. As he began to sort through his stocks making mental notes of what he needed collected and what he had enough of he tried to make a lesson plan for his next lesson.

He didn't have one until third and he thought he had Slytherin and Ravenclaw seventh years. They rotated who had what lessons which what house each year, but it was just his luck that Potter's year had Gryffindors and Slytherins together.

But he couldn't concentrate because it felt as if the entire world was trying to escape the inside of his head. Harry's words echoed in there and he knew he had to mask them, cover them with petals and feathers and thoughts of hatred.

As he realised he was out of wolfsbane he sighed and held the empty jar to his cheek, letting its coolness flush through him. "I didn't hate James...I loved...I loved him."

A tear slid down his cheek as he bowed his head and let them fall slowly and steadily into his hands.

AN: AU. Duh (hopefully duh cause if you thought this was cannon you haven't really been in the presence of any of the books, films, games, comics). Not mine either- cause while I'd love to be JKR I'm not.

_Please tell us what you thinkses, we swears to serve the ones who reviewses. We swears, we swears on the...on the reviews! We swears on the reviews!_


	2. Chapter 2

Spies are not effective spies, unless you would look at them and say, there is no way in hell that he or she is a spy, mused Professor Severus Snape as he made himself a nice hot cup of tea.

Therefore he, you would therefore assume, would not be an effective spy. Well that is unless you didn't know the Dark Lord, and you didn't know Snape. Not well at least.

The Dark Lord, you see is a man like any other, filled with hate and anger, but more importantly paranoia. He suspects all those around him of being ready to betray him at the drop of a hat. So he should.

They are after all Death Eaters, striving to purify the world and create a utopia (which here means a miserable place as dark, twisted and mutilated as the Dark Lord's soul) and therefore are probably some of the most despicable creatures on the earth. The most despicable creatures are the ones who change sides halfway through a fight, who give up their own ethics to save their own skin.

That is not to say changing sides is wrong. No, for example a brave man called Regulus Black did so. Changing sides is fine, that's _allowed. _But the people who change sides, for the sake of being on the winning side, are the ones who disgust us. Which is why Lucius Malfoy, was perhaps one of the Dark Lord's nearest and dearest. He was a disgusting, despicable thing, who would have sold out his son to save his own skin (Narcissa Malfoy on the other hand would have stepped between the Dark Lord and her son a thousand times over, but that is another matter). It is why Peter Pettigrew was of such value to the Dark Lord. It is easy to manipulate cowards. But cowards will betray you.

Therefore you could say he had trust issues.

But Snape. Dear dear Snape, he looked like a spy. He looked so foul, with his greasy dark hair, his temper, an oversized bat with a funny nose. But as one of the man himself's most favourite authors once wrote 'if he was one of the enemy, he would look fairer and...well feel fouler'.

It is why Crouch jr did so much more an effective job at being a spy. The Dark Lord should have seen it. He got close to Potter, Snape pushed him away. But Snape was pretending to spy on him for Dumbledore, of course. It was glaringly obvious. Snape was secretly a spy for him, a long term placement, but Dumbledore thought he was pretending to spy on him while really spying on the Dark Lord. It was perfect. Because really, how many double bluffs could a man pull off before he lost his mind? It was ludicrous to imagine that Snape was actually spying on him while pretending to spy on him while secretly spying on someone else.

Truth be told the Dark Lord just wasn't sure. But he didn't care. Because even if Snape was carefully drip feeding him only tid-bits of information, as opposed to the real deal, he had to make sure the tid-bits he gave were true. Otherwise he'd risk blowing his cover. And the Dark Lord was...content to make do with tid-bits. It was better than nothing.

That is power, when it doesn't matter who's side the spy is on. Because he's still useful. It also means that no one truly thinks he's a spy. Because he's so obviously a spy, there's no way in hell he really is.

He hadn't wanted to tell Voldemort about the prophecy. He never wanted to. But Dumbledore said he must. Snape knew what would happen. He knew it would either be the Longbottom boy...or Harry.

But Voldemort had to fucking know because otherwise he couldn't mark the child as his equal, and Voldemort would never lose. It was a risk he had to take. That's what Dumbledore said. The chance to vanquish him. They had to take it. Snape had begged. He'd begged and begged. But he'd done as told. He repeated the prophecy, or what he'd heard. And he'd been promised.

If he could perhaps hate someone, slightly more than he hated himself, it would be Voldemort. Snape couldn't say the name aloud, but it echoed around his mind like a gunshot in an empty cavern. Right after Voldemort came Dumbledore.

He'd joined a gang at school. Left school a cynic like a lot of kids from rubbish backgrounds. No one cared. He didn't have a chance. Authority, society and the world in general had it in for him. Fully fledged Death Eater by 19. Realised he wanted out by 19 and a half. Started saving lives.

Children smuggled out of Muggle homes. Muggles and Muggle Borns and opposers in general He remembered the baby. They'd attacked them in their homes. People had begged him thousands of times for their lives. And he'd always spared them. His curses missed, or barely scratched them (_you have to mean it). _He got in the way. He let people run for it. He led the parties the wrong way and he was so convincing. He made sure of that.

He'd used the killing curse thrice in the time before...before October 31st 1981. Once on some poor sod that Greyback had left fatally wounded. The other two...he liked to think of them as mercy killings. But the flash of green- it was permanently burnt into his eyeballs.

But the baby. It had been stupid. He'd known the girl, she'd been in the year below him at school. It was August 1981. It was so stickily hot that year.

His hood had fallen down as she screamed, begging for her life. Begging him to kill her.. To kill her not the baby.

The creature was tiny, the size of a loaf of bread. A month or two old at the most, . He tried to tell her to run as he snapped his fingers, the door shutting behind him. Keeping his fellow Death Eaters at bay for a few moments.

"Severus!" she recognised him, positioning herself in front of the crib. "Not Luna, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

"Apparate you stupid woman!" he'd hissed, tossing her her fallen wand.

"Wha-?"

"I am not going to kill you. They won't have bothered with wards yet. Take your child and-"

She already had the little bundle in her arms, spinning on the spot to no avail. A sinking feeling rose in the pit of his stomach. She didn't have time to run. He couldn't see another exit.

She stared at him wide eyed. "Take her. Please. Have mercy. Not my baby. They're going to kill me. Please...don't let them-"

Snape kicked the crib over, snatching the screaming child from her arms and placing her beneath it. He racked his mind for a silencing charm.

The woman was about to speak, she didn't have a chance to for the door flew open. Snape raised his wand. He began to mouth the words. He prayed for her that the killing curse was swift and painless.

Bellatrix had already screeched 'crucio'. The woman was screaming, drowning out the wails of the child.

When the woman had stopped crying she was dead. The baby wasn't making any other noise either. Snape often found him praying to a deity who he didn't believe in in those days. But he prayed the child wasn't dead. They left the house so pleased with themselves. They'd levitated the Muggle husband in the air, to show him off. They'd tortured the wife and brought him back inside to watch.

Bellatrix had asked him if he'd enjoyed killing a child, with children she didn't use magic, she'd explained. She liked to feel their muscles writhing beneath her fingers, and then she'd suffocate them if they were small enough, just to feel the moment when their tiny little hearts gave up and their lungs gave him. It was much more personal, much more intimate.

It made him nauseous. More nauseous than he'd ever felt, watching torture and death. It made him want to vomit as she described with joy infanticide while greedily chomping her way through a packet of biscuits.

He'd prayed the baby had lived. Which led to Severus Snape risking blowing the delicate cover he'd created so skilfully for himself, by smuggling a child out of a destroyed house with the dark mark hanging over it, while aurors surrounded it. Because if they found out the child lived, then it would be all over the Prophet by the next morning. Miraculous survival. And his cover would be more blown. But as a wanted Death Eater it was quiet a difficult task. He did it.

Dumbledore took her and left her on a doorstep in the middle of the night. Which is something you'll realise Dumbledore does quite often- operate in darkness, surrounded by secrets. Snape didn't see her again until she turned up in his potions class age eleven and now known as Luna Lovegood. She would never know that she owed her life to him, and that those she knew as mother and father were not.

Not until the dreadful war was over, and it seemed to Snape like it never would be.

And even then, he and James couldn't be together. Not until the Wizarding World learnt it was the 1980s not the 1680s and accepted that homosexuality was a thing.

He'd been amazed when Lily had agreed to carry their child. When Sirius had finally accepted that he and James were a couple. Not that Sirius liked it, but he accepted it for James's sake. When Remus shook his hand. When he knew the insults and taunts he kept in his memory meant nothing, because James had never meant any of them. They were just for appearances sake. And half of them were altered memories anyway to make it seem worse.

No there were worse bullies than James. Who called him gay, which he was and therefore didn't view as an insult. Who insulted his Mother. Who hurt him far more than James ever could. They were the ones who'd made him despair, contemplate...contemplate ending his suffering once and for all. Not much has changed, now it was simply a new bully who causes such contemplation. A new bully known as the wickedest wizard who'd ever lived.

James almost a year of detention, because he'd broken one's nose for breaking Snape's. Not that Snape would say anything. James was furious with him. Snape wasn't a snitch and he wasn't a coward who needed other people to fight his battles, that's what he'd told James back then.

Snape snapped back to reality as a hammering came from his quarters' door. It sounded like someone was trying to break it.

He expected a sick Slytherin, or possibly a Ravenclaw demanding to know why'd they'd got an A not an O on an exam paper. He didn't expect a bloody and beaten Potter, and a rather dishevelled looking ghost (though Nearly Headless Nick always looked like that).

"What have you done to your door?" demanded the ghost.

Snape didn't answer. Of course he would ghost proof his quarters. The Baron was a nightmare.

"He wouldn't go to the infirmary!" exclaimed Nick. "And he wanted you!"

Snape barely had enough time to make a grab for the boy before he fell through the ghost and into his arms.

_Who did this to Potter? What the hell was he going to do about it? And why...Why was Potter smiling, as if this was exactly what he wanted?_


	3. Chapter 3

"What the hell have you done to yourself this time Potter?" demanded Snape as he caught the boy, who just grinned at him.

"Out after dark Professor, why don't you..." he slurred, "why don't you give me detention?"

Harry steadied himself against the doorframe, untangling himself from Snape and jabbing a thumb at him.

"Why don't...why don't you..."

"Nick, can you fetch Poppy?"

Snape didn't say _please, _he was only polite when frightened, and he did not want to show anyone present the fear that was slowly growing within him, which stirred in the darkest pit of his stomach like an ancient monster awakening and roared through his veins like a burning acid. However this fear wasn't an ancient monster lain dormant for decades like Slytherin's basilisk, no, it was constantly awake within Snape, coming in steady waves. But each felt new. Luckily living in constant fear allowed him to harden his nerves, sharpen his voice and steady his shaking hands as adrenalin coursed through his body.

Harry began to object, shaking his head then giving a slight whimper. Snape however stood his ground and soon the ghost had taken two steps, or movements forward then disappeared into the grey in-between land that ghosts often wander into and stumble out of unknowingly and wizards go momentarily when apparating.

Minutes later they were in the infirmary, and Poppy was awoken from her rest, though as she said herself_"No rest for the wicked dear Serverus_. Dumbledore was not woken as Snape said- they would not wake him for any other student if said student was in no life threatening situation. Minerva wasn't in the castle, usually she would have been Snape's second port of call after Poppy for a Gryffindor. But no, there was rest for the wicked, for the most wicked creature in the castle that night, slept in her private chamber, surrounded by fine pink lace, in her pink nightgown, as the cats in her pictures purred around her.

"He's just been in a fight Severus," Poppy murmured, a delicate violet robe thrown over her pokadotted pyjamas. "Can you smell the alcohol on him? I think he's been drinking. Looks like his nose has been broken, I've fixed it. Lots of bruises, no broken ribs. By the state of his knuckles he gave a good fight back. What is the appeal? Sometimes I think they do more damage than they would with magic! You see Severus, of course jinxes and curses can do a lot of damage, but they're usually reversible in the long term. Not that I think there'll be any long lasting damage," she pottered around Harry's bed.

"We'll just let him sleep it off," she said, smiling at Snape, in a way that was meant to be reassuring. To Snape it looked a bit too much like a tired grimace. Before he could speak she continued. "I'm not too fond of this however," she held up his right hand, and beneath a well dissolved layer of ointment a few words were etched into the skin. "Someone's been using Murtlap Essence on it."

"_I must not tell lies," _mouthed Snape. "Murtlap Essence is quite an advanced solution, I doubt Potter would manage it, one of his friends- that's a Black Quill. A medieval method of teaching; oh the old fool! He's let that monster into the castle and-"

"Dangerous words Severus," Poppy smiled, thin lipped now, a tight severe smile that said _shut up _you silly man, the walls have ears and the doors have eyes. "I don't like this either," she turned Harry's left arm over, rolling the sleeve of his sweater; a red and gold ensemble for after the briefest of thorough examinations they had left him in his day clothing. "You understand my concern?"

Snape glanced at a thin, neat row of slightly faded pink lines. He arched an eyebrow. "Yes, that is cause for concern."

It was late, and with the hammered teenager lying on his side, softly stirring occasionally with a muffled sniffle. Snape retired to his quarters given that there was no call for him to be exhausted in the morning. Poppy also retired to her chamber, a little room just off of the hospital room, so that the good matron could always remain vigilant over her dear patients.

This is what Snape explained to Harry when Harry awoke to the oversized greasy haired bat, as he had once, or possibly on multiple occasions, referred to him as, standing over him. Snape didn't want Harry maintaining the notion that he would stand beside him until he woke, holding his hands perhaps or caressing his soft hair.

Perhaps had he been in mortal danger, perhaps Snape would have. But he wasn't, so Snape didn't. Instead Snape sat beside him, arms folded across his chest.

"Your head will hurt Po-Harry," he smiled slightly, at least there could be some entertainment. "I assume you understand why?"

Harry groaned and sat up. "Actually Professor I don't feel that ba-" he felt bile rising in his throat and threw a hand to his mouth.

With a flick of his wand and no movement of his lips Snape had a white sick bowl in his hands and had shoved it beneath Harry's face, where the boy dry heaved twice before depositing a mouthful of spit in it.

Snape could barely suppress a grin. "You were saying? And to answer your previous question, no I have not been here all night. I had lesson plans to complete and sleep to catch up on. You know how it is I'm sure. After all, your nightmares have gotten worse haven't they? You haven't practised your Occlumency recently and you don't take it seriously enough."

Harry sat upright wincing slightly as his head began to pound. His stomach was churning and the bright lights of the infirmary didn't help it seemed. At least this headache had nothing to do with the Dark Lord. "How do you-? I haven't told anyone but-?"

"You do not practice Occlumency half as much as you should Mr. Potter, and if you did perhaps you would notice when someone enters your mind to extract information!" Snape shook his head in exasperation. "And guess what, it's even easier when you're still half gone from a night of drinking and not experienced! Right now Harry your mind is very jumbled, it's so easy to enter...if you want to think of alcohol as some sort of lubricant fine. Of course once entered hardly any memories can be reached and no useful information can be gathered-"

Snape regretted his words almost immediately. Because he knew how the boy's mind worked. He had his mother's eyes yes, and Snape found that so very hard, for his favourite feature about James had been his eyes. Perhaps it helped him distinguish between them, remind him that this was Harry, not James. But while Harry's nature was far more like Lily's and Snape's (as a child), gentle and sensitive, yet he was also as foolhardy and as ignorant as James himself. Snape couldn't allow alcohol to become a substitute for occlumency, and he knew how Harry's logic would run- if I drink the Dark Lord gains access to my mind, but on the plus side there's hardly anything he can use...

"However it can be deciphered if you have the will," Snape added sternly, "and there are those who have that will."

Harry laughed and began to cough. "Course there are," he spluttered. "I'm Harry freaking Potter."

Harry felt happier as he said that, and a strange floating feeling came over him. Suddenly his head began to pound and the momentary floating feeling left him as if he were a puppet whose strings had been cut. Suddenly someone had sown stones into his stomach and tossed him down a mine shaft, he was falling, falling, head spinning, sinking and hitting the cold water that had gathered at the bottom of said shaft, a sudden cold shock that sent chills down his spine and him spluttering for breath, almost vomiting again. He didn't.

"Can't you do something about hangovers? You're wizards aren't you?" he moaned covering his eyes with one arm and wincing as he brushed against a few bruises.

Snape's lips twitched, he clasped and unclasped his hands. "And so are you Mr. Potter. Unfortunately while there are potions and charms that are said to ease the dreaded hangover, they are as effective and as unreliable as muggle treatments. I suggest you sleep it off . Because quite frankly you need to see the consequences of your foolhardy actions."

"Perhaps I'll be the first to invent one," Harry quipped.

To his surprise Snape didn't reprimand him for joking during his stern lecture, instead he nodded. "Perhaps you will Ha- Potter. But it would help if you actually paid attention during your Potions lessons then perhaps you could. It's not as if you lack the skill."

A harsh wind howled through the grounds of Hogwarts school, rattling the thick windows from the ground floor to the highest tower. There were few windows in the dungeons, bar a few that looked out underground, and the windows in the towers were newer replacing bare gaps and bars and therefore were thinner glass. Harry had never really thought about the architecture of the castle before, and how it had to be a strong wind to make the thick panes of glass shake. He wondered if the castle could hold off a siege,he wondered if it had during the Wizarding War. Had there been other conflicts it had withstood before that?

As he mused, he realised that Professor Snape was talking and his head snapped up. "Are you going to do a Star Wars moment Professor?"

"What are you talking about boy?" demanded Snape, having cut his previous sentence off midway, though Harry did not know what he had been saying. "Wasn't that some muggle film?"

"Dudley had the action figures. You've always hated me and you've always hated my Dad. So why are you going all mentor on me."

"Lupin didn't tell you much about your father did he?"

Harry sat upright. "He told me enough. Sure, you're not a bad guy I guess, you're a dick-" he paused.

Snape took a deep breath. "Continue."

"But you know, you're not a _bad _guy. But you can't claim that you and my Dad were mates. You know? You just can't."

"No, Harry, I can't," agreed Snape.

"Oh God, now you're going to tell me that you're my father aren't you?" Harry shut his eyes. "Oh please, don't."

Snape sighed. "Not...quite. Your father and I...were not friends no. We were lovers," he managed to keep his voice from shaking.

Snape would have liked to spend the entire morning there, by none other than Harry Potter's bedside, and he quite rightly realised that his sudden announcement needed justification and evidence and possibly explanation and elaboration. Because Harry Potter was staring at him as if he had just sprouted wings.

Snape needed an entire morning alone with the boy. To explain. To talk to him. Black obviously wasn't providing much of an output for the child, and neither was Lupin. The boy needed someone, and even if he didn't Snape had a sudden paternal urge that made him want to be that someone. Just to stare at those beautiful eyes, while James did have beautiful eyes so did Lily, the perfect eyes. In fact with their genes they had created a handsome child. To stare at that beautiful face, so similar to James yet so different.

To tell the boy how proud he was, how so damn proud that he had grown to be a good young man. A better young man than Snape ever was. He needed that morning to ask him about those scars on his wrist. To ask him why on earth he'd got himself into a fight, and who with. Though Snape was guessing it was probably someone from Slytherin house, and probably more than one of them, for Slytherins were not known for their bravery. He also wanted to know why on earth the boy had gotten hammered before said fight, and what had led to him doing that.

But Albus Dumbledore has a knack for arriving at precisely the wrong moments and ruining perfectly good emotional scenes, though the man himself would argue a wizard is never late, early or intrusive, but arrives precisely when he means to. With a flick of his wand Dumbledore drew up a chair and sat himself down on it, ending that conversation and subsequently starting a new one.

_Author's Note: Hope you guys are enjoying! Check out my work on fictionpress if you're interested in original work (hint hint! hint hint!) Winter Blessings to you all! Remember the warm glow of appreciation keeps me warm, unlike the strange glowing light in the dark sky, so please be, keep a Natalie warm this winter!_

_PS: Natalie M River on fictionpress. Feel free to create hypothesis on what the M stands for. _

_ s/3226488/1/Virtue-s-Fall_


	4. Chapter 4

Albus Dumbledore tried to start a new conversation, it would probably have focused around him. Snape wished the old man could just learn when some things didn't involve him. When they needed a younger, fresher wizard to take over. Hell no one used Merlin's books to teach any more, that didn't mean someone had usurped the great wizard. Dumbledore needed to learn that just because people did things differently, it did not mean that they were trying to usurp him.

Snape liked the word usurp, the way it tingled on the end of his tongue. It was why he liked charms so much, so much that he had considered applying to teach it. He loved the sound of spells. Casting them without verbal accompaniment seemed to withdraw the beauty from them. He'd never been so good at charms though, not as good as Dumbledore or Flickwick. Once, when he was thirteen, he thought he might like to be an English teacher, like Lily talked about. Lily had told him about this teacher who taught her friend at a Muggle school, and they learnt all about witches but only the bad bits, and these witches told this man a prophecy and he took it the wrong way and went and killed the King and his own best friend. At the time Snape couldn't imagine a prophecy being so self-fulfilling, so destructive. Imagine that though, a teacher who taught English to children who already spoke the language.

Snape wasn't always the most beautiful creature, in heart or in person. But he could appreciate beauty when he saw it or heard it. The sound of words, the sound of music, the tinkling of a child's laugh. His appreciation of beauty led to his potion skills becoming perfected, he saw beauty in the murky depths of every cauldron. Perhaps that was why it hurt him when the likes of Longbottom destroyed such beauty in such a disastrous way.

"My father was not gay!" protested Harry rather loudly.

"And with that," said Professor Dumbledore, "I will leave you and Professor Snape to have a good, long, conversation."

Snape stood, "Unfortunately Headmaster I have lessons to attend to, and claiming that both I and Mr. Potter here had been taken ill would raise far too many eyebrows."

Dumbledore nodded, Harry caught a whiff of talcum powder as he did so. His eyes twinkled, but not as brightly as they once had done, and his smile was thin and tired. "Quite right Severus. I won't here this afternoon, or for the next four or five days. But if you desperately need to contact me, a corporeal patronus should do the trick. Otherwise I would prefer to stay, off the radar as the Muggles say," he smiled faintly again, before turning to Harry. "And Mr. Potter, Harry, be careful."

With that he turned on his heel and strode towards the large heavy door, pausing to turn back as he pushed it open. "Professor McGonagall is acting as headmistress in my absence. But we must that we are currently in the lead up to 1984," and with that he let the door swing shut behind him, his footsteps echoing ever so quietly in the corridor, and Snape just knew his cloak was billowing around him, and in his head he was playing a dramatic piano solo.

Snape turned back to Harry. Harry glanced up. Snape smiled. "As you know, consuming alcohol and/or other drugs on school premises when under the age of sixteen is against school rules. I am aware that you have other commitments, and given the circumstances lenience is necessary. Be in my office, tomorrow evening, seven o'clock as usual."

"What the fuck did he mean, leading up to 1984?" asked Harry, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Language Harry," Snape scolded. "The headmaster likes being cryptic, and sometimes it helps to be so, and to learn how to lie. Being part of a secret organisation, be it the Order of the Phoenix or simply a group of friends illegally learning how to defend themselves, not that they'd need to, given that the Dark- Voldemort is not returning, as our dear DADA teacher and High Inquisitor Professor Umbridge reminds us. 1984 refers to a Muggle book Potter, I'm sure Miss Granger will have come across it during some holiday or other. It's the kind of thing she would enjoy."

With that he too strode towards the room like the oversized bat he was, robes flapping about him. He also paused, and for a moment or two Harry saw a dangerous likeness between Dumbledore and Snape. "Be very careful Harry. Very, very careful.."

Then he was gone, like a rumour in the breeze.

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Harry was almost late to see Snape, for after dinner he went to his dormitory to lie down and as he slept he had a terrible nightmare. At first he was playing Quidditch, and though he was ashamed to admit it, he still enjoyed Quidditch, or he had enjoyed Quidditch, even though he didn't deserve to after Cedric's death. Quidditch, it had been a release, something he could do, something somewhere not even Voldemort or Umbridge or Cedric could touch him. No, Cedric reached him everywhere, touching his soul with icy hands, and he couldn't bear to look him in the eye.

It seemed Umbridge had become omnipotent. She'd taken away Quidditch, confiscating his broomstick and banning him, Fred and George for life before Christmas. What he was most angry about was Fred's ban. Draco Malfoy had insulted and provoked them, and yes he knew he was perfectly within his rights for attacking the twa- the wicked creature, in fact no one in their right mind would blame him. But it was only he and George that had gone for him, not Fred, Fred had had to hold them back.

But the real reason he was almost late, was because as he'd headed down to the dungeons, and had run straight into Professor Umbridge. She smiled when she saw him.

"Ahhh, Mr. Potter, running about after dark," her voice dripped with sweetness, as if it had been drenched in poisoned honey. "I'm simply _so _glad to see you made a full recovery after being taken ill on Friday."

Harry resisted the urge to curse under his breath. He should have popped his invisibility cloak on as soon as he'd left the tower.

"Yes, miraculous recovery," he paused and gritted his teeth. "Thank you Professor. I'm just on my way to the dungeons, to find Professor Snape and apologise to him for my attitude in one of his potion lessons, and ask for some extra tuition."

Umbridge pouted slightly. "Oh I didn't think you were a fan of potions Mr. Potter, but I do recall Professor Dumbledore mentioning that Professor Snape was giving you some extra tuition because your skills are lacking. I am glad to see you finally taking an interest in your lessons, and not worrying about some silly little lies that Professor Dumbledore has been brainwashing you with."

"Well potions is a useful skill Professor," Harry said lamely.

Which was how he found himself carrying all of Umbridge's books to her office, before she thanked him for his help and gave him a toothy grin that made him picture a tiger eyeing up its prey. Harry thought perhaps he'd quite like Cho to eye him up like a tiger- he couldn't believe his mind was taking him in that direction. It was wrong, and cruel and oh gosh, he'd just thought of Umbridge and Cho in the same context. Now all he could think of was those horrible toad-like lips kissing some poor man, or woman, and her stubby little fingers caressing someone.

It was nice to be disgusted by little things sometimes. It was nice to worry about normal things like girls. It was nice to fantasize about normal things, that other fifteen years olds thought about...like girls. Not giant snakes and biting people.

"Mr. Potter, I will be checking with Professor Snape that you went to see him," Umbridge warned, breaking him from his thoughts which were currently making him shudder and shiver. "Good evening."

He had to run to get to Snape's door on time. When he got there, out of breath, he had no idea what waited for him.

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Harry found Snape's private chambers different to how he'd last found them. They were warmer, cozier it seemed, despite the fact that the interior decorations hadn't changed much and were still dark and gloomy like a pre-modern bat-cave. The only change was the addition of two armchairs, and Snape himself wasn't flouncing about like a drama queen but sitting in one sipping from a pink poka-dotted mug. It made Harry uneasy to say the least.

They didn't talk about much it seemed, but as he made his way back to the tower, under the shield of his invisibility cloak Harry realised they'd talked about too much. A little about Sirius, about how he could never be James. How he felt as if he'd let his parents down, as if he was continuously letting them and everyone around him down. How he hurt everyone he loved.

He told Snape about attacking Mr. Weasley in the corridor. How he'd been the snake, how he worried he'd been possessed. How everyone was scared of him. How bad he was. How he didn't deserve any of the kindness anyone had shown him. He spoke of the man at St. Mungo's, the one that Remus had sat by and comforted, and he told Snape that people like that who'd done nothing wrong deserved love and affection, not people like him. Not murderers.

How angry he was for being kept out of the loop by Dumbledore. For the fact that no one was listening. He couldn't make Occlumency work. Couldn't shield his mind from the Dark Lord, and how he lived in fear that He, Voldemort would read it, control it, unhinge it. He spoke of the dream, his dream about a corridor and a door, and that made Snape go very quiet and very thoughtful for a few moments, giving Harry a moment to wonder why on earth he was letting his heart out to Snape of all people.

Then he remembered who Snape was, and what Snape was, and also the fact that Snape had penetrated his mind before; only lightly and had probably seen snippets of everything anyway.

Snape explained things to him. He didn't try to pretend to be a good person, he admitted he was a bitter, cruel, person. Just like Sirius, just like Lupin. But he tried to reassure him that part of it was an act. He admitted being jealous of Sirius. He admitted not doing enough during the years the man had been in Azkaban.

"I believed him responsible for the death of your parents Harry," Snape took a sip of his tea. "And yes, Lily and James were very much your parents. Your Mother, she loved you dearly. And she would have continued to, even once James and I had found ourselves a home. With another partner, other children even, you were still very much her son."

"Why me?" asked Harry quietly. "I know my Mum was only living with my Dad so you could keep being a spy, but why them, why me? Why did Voldemort target them in particular?"

Snape sighed. "Your entire year were war babies. Can you understand that? Every child in this school lost someone Harry, it wasn't only you," Snape shut his eyes for a moment in the pretence of blinking deeply.

It was hard, for people who weren't there to understand it. Everyone in their fifth year would have been just over a year old on the Halloween the war ended. The next two years there was a baby boom, for when people are overjoyed they often tend to celebrate with overjoyed sex. And no one worries about protection when half your family is dead and the bastard who killed them is dead too. Snape really admired families like the Weasleys, who had raised a family of children under ten during the war years.

"Almost everyone was in hiding," Snape explained.

"I know that! But they were fighting too. Why were my parents _just _hiding? There were others with kids, my Mum and Dad were part of the Order of the Phoenix. Why weren't they fighting?"

"Never think your parents were cowards. They did a lot more than others. They, we, we were all so young. And James and Lily, they'd defied the Dark Lord three times. And..." Snape found himself running over his words. They were jumbling up and stumbling into each other as he added filler after filler. "There was a prophecy, and I delivered it to the Dark Lord, as I was meant to-to pass on information when necessary, though it had to be altered, monitored and filtered. He promised me...he promised me that he'd protect them..."

It scared Harry, to see Snape cracking up. He'd witnessed Remus cry, and Sirius, and Ron and Hermione plenty of times. He'd cried plenty of times too. But Snape was rock. He was like ice, and he was _not _meant to be doing this.

"I'm sorry Harry. The prophecy stated something along the lines that someone with the power to defeat the Dark Lord would be born, in July, and that child would be born to those who'd defied the Dark Lord thrice etcetera etcetra."

"And that was me? That makes me the chosen one?"

Snape paused. "There was another child that fit the description, and both families were put under protection. But the Dark Lord chose you and decided to kill you. But you lived."

"I sometimes wish I hadn't," murmured Harry.

Snape began to talk about the importance of Occlumency now, for the information in Harry's mind was far too precious. It put Snape's life in danger, but more importantly it put his position as a spy for the Order in danger. "There are things worth dying for Harry," he said. "And you are one of those things."

They talked and they talked and they talked for far too long and far too much. Snape delighted in telling him happier tales of his childhood, though there weren't many. His generation had grown up in the pre war era, with many remembering the previous war against Grindewald and the rising Lord Voldemort overshadowing their futures.

But Harry found himself laughing and crying despite the sadness in Snape's eyes. Apparently Remus Lupin was the best liar amongst the Marauders, and had grown cannabis in one of the greenhouses without being caught. Snape told of the time that he and Lily had nearly crashed into the Whomping Willow.. How James had saved his life on one occasion, and that James hadn't talked to Sirius for nearly a month after the event, despite having previously taken him into his home to live.

Snape didn't tell him how he'd called Lily a mudblood that one time, and how Lily hadn't talked to him for a good while. How he'd got involved with the wrong people and wanted to leave. Of the horrible things he'd done as a child and as an adult. Of the spells he'd invented. Of the poisons he'd created.

Harry wanted to hear more, but Snape told him they'd have to save those tales for another time.

They practised Occlumency, and Harry seemed more determined and more enthusiastic than before. He took to it well, not perfectly. He could shield his mind from being read so easily, but was still easily influenced.

"Could I show him false images?" asked Harry. "I mean surely he'll know we know he knows about the connection if he sees nothing?"

Snape sighed, setting down his wand and wiping sweat from his forehead. It demanded stamina to keep mind duelling with someone as headstrong as Harry. "That's far too complicated a sentence for this time in the evening. Yes, yes you could. But not yet. Concentrate on not showing him anything. And I'm not sure if he knows about the connection yet. However, he'll assume that Professor Dumbledore has taught you the skill. Or that the connection isn't strong."

"We could give him false information, like you do!" Harry said excitedly.

Snape paused. "Yes...we could. But I'd prefer that you didn't think about my role as a spy too much, and carry on to at least pretend to despise me. I assure you I will continue the pretence towards you."

"Why didn't Professor Dumbledore tell me about the prophecy?" Harry asked, sitting back down in his armchair as Snape stowed away his wand, indicating that their training session had come to an end. "Why doesn't Professor Dumbledore tell me anything?"

Snape couldn't answer truthfully, and so he settled for a half truth. "Because Harry he cares about you, and he wants to protect you. And now I advise you head on up to bed. You are not a murderer, or a liar. Sirius, Remus, the Weasleys...all of us love you very much and we don't want you be to feel unloved, despite anything anyone else might say about you or for you to hurt yourself. It's hard, living in times like these, it's ok to be unhappy."

Harry smiled slightly. "I don't feel unloved Professor. I've got everyone. I've got Rita Skeeter writing an article about be because of Hermione and Luna's getting it published. I've got so many people backing me, supporting me. My parents died for me. People keep dying for me. And I'm not worth it, you know?"

Snape stood awkwardly.

"Who was the other kid?" asked Harry, looking up at Snape from beneath his dark fringe, he swallowed. "The other one that fit the bill."

"In confidence, Longbottom. Neville Longbottom," and Snape was going to say more, that every child deserved love, that Longbottom deserved it, that he deserved it- but he didn't.

Harry put a hand to his mouth as bile rose in his throat. Alice and Frank. Oh God. He dry heaved. Then he began to cry. And sometimes when you cry, you can't stop.

Snape understood why Fred and George continued to plan to run their jokeshop, why James and Sirius when together seemed never to stop laughing. Because if you don't laugh you cry, and when you start you don't stop.

Slowly Snape put his arms around the boy and patted him once or twice on the back before Harry collapsed further into the billows of his robes, burying his face in the fabric. Usually the idea of mucus and tears on his clothing disgusted him, but Snape reasoned he could put up with it for Harry...for his son.

Harry cried and wailed and sobbed and howled. It hurt.

And when Harry left, silently and unseen sneaking back to his dormitory, he realised that they'd talked far more than he thought they had.

Raising a hand to his face to wipe away a tear, Harry realised that Snape, though silently, had been crying too.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry Potter got pissed one night for fun, and woke up with a few more cuts on his arms, a little groggy, and in a pile of his own vomit.

For fun.

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There was no one left. Sirius was dead. And it was his fault, all his fault.

Snape hated him. Like he'd always hated him. Harry hadn't even remembered about Snape's involvement in the order until it was almost too late. Perhaps if he'd gone to him sooner things would have been different. If he hadn't wasted time trying to contact Sirius himself, if he hadn't had to talk in improvised code to convey a message that even he wasn't sure made sense.

_He's got Padfoot in the place where it's kept. _

Except he didn't have Padfoot, Harry led Padfoot there. He killed him. He killed Sirius, as good as anything. Because he hadn't practised occlumency enough. He wasn't ready. He let the Dark Lord into his mind, plant false visions.

He'd been too weak, too broken, too much of a failure at everything he was meant to be good at. Heck, he wasn't good enough to save the Wizarding World, he was hardy worth the air he breathed.

They all blamed him, at least, that's what he saw in their eyes. Floating somewhere beneath their pupils, amongst the ice and waves, like a dark shadow on the surface of a lake, there was blame.

"I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love," he murmured out loud to no one in particular but Hedwig, who sat in her cage and looked at him with her head on one side. "I'm sorry girl, you're not allowed to fly while we're here...but we won't stay much longer, I promise."

Privet Drive had seemed like a whole world away during the previous year, just like it did every year at Hogwarts. But here he was, back again.

"I killed my Mum you know," Harry told the owl, who didn't seem to be listening. "Or Voldemort killed her because of me, either way. And my Dad. I killed Sirius, he loved me, he did you know," he choked slightly, wiping a tear from his eye. Harry could feel his throat seizing up, mucus clogging his nose as a sob rose in his chest. "Voldemort, he wants to be immortal you know, conquer the wizarding world, subjugate non-magical people and he's not going to let anyone stand in his way. But you know what, I've had chances to stop him, or at least slow him down...or something."

The sob that was rising in his chest bubbled and pushed against the lid he'd clamped down upon it, he dry heaved once, twice and began to cry. And to be honest, he couldn't be bothered to fight it anymore.

They said he'd defeated the Dark Lord as a baby, but he hadn't. Not really. His Mum...yeah, maybe she'd defeated him temporarily. But not him, he knew that. They hailed him as a hero, just for bringing Cedric's body home from the graveyard.

Dumbledore thought there were horcruxes involved. Harry shouldn't have been eaves dropping, but really, such a powerful wizard should be more careful when discussing things he didn't want overheard. Harry expected Dumbledore to lie to him, the man always had. But Snape...Snape promised not to lie to him.

Harry was tired of people _lying _constantly.

So when Hermione and Ron cornered him during their last week at Hogwarts before summer term ended, he finally stopped lying.

Ron had been far more scared at the word 'horcrux' than Hermione. Unsurprisingly Hermione hadn't heard of them, and he'd explained that he'd gone through all the books in the library and had been unable to find anything about them.

Ron's knowledge was limited, but fortunately it was enough to set them on some sort of track. But as they sat beneath an invisibility cloak in the darkness of the common room, quietening charms cast around them, cogs in Harry's brain started turning.

"_Listen, all I know is they're something evil. And that we don't talk about them. They're dark magic, like dark dark magic. Worse than the unforgivable curses. But they make people immortal. Or something like that." _

Neville was a sweetheart, and Hermione felt quite awful tricking him into doing something, while Harry and Ron were fairly content with doing so, but eventually she agreed it was necessary _for the greater good_. However that phrase worried Harry a lot more than the action. But a kiss was enough, and he went on his way to dutifully ask Professor Snape about horcruxes.

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"Why do you want me to do this again?" Neville demanded.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Because the wizarding world is depending on you."

Ron nodded eagerly. "And chicks dig heroes, right Harry?"

Hermione shot him a look that would petrify a basilisk. Ron's grin faltered slightly. But Harry had to crack a slight smile. He hadn't felt that normal in weeks.

"Right."

Neville nodded. "Fine. I've got it."

Hermione smiled brightly. "Oh wonderful Neville!" she took him by the chin and placed a quick peck on his cheek. "Just remember, something you heard some Slytherins talking about, couldn't find any books. Ok?"

Neville turned as red as Ron's hair and in a fluster he straightened his robes, garbling his words. "Yes. Right. Of course."

"Ron and Harry will be right there with you. Ok?" Hermione asked. They'd agreed to only send the two, because unfortunately they were getting taller and the cloak couldn't fit the three of them anymore.

She watched the three of them leave the common room and sighed, collapsing into an arm chair with the Marauder's Map open on her lap. She followed their progress as they made their way down to the dungeons.

It was a pity she hadn't been able to see Ron's face as he and Harry followed Neville. But only Harry could see him beneath their cloak. Something that looked like jealously was flickering in his eyes.

Instead she sat alone, with her knees tucked up under her chin holding the map up now and studying it as if her life depended on it. And she hoped, hoped to hell and back, that Neville was a convincing liar.

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"Why are you here Longbottom?" Snape demanded.

Neville began to stutter.

"If it's something of a personal nature may I suggest you take it to Professor McGonagall, your head of house?" Snape snarled. Then it hit him. Maybe it was about Harry. "Or speak quickly," he added.

"I couldn't think of anyone else to go to, the other professors, well they're not like you. They might not understand."

Harry was trying to hold his breath. _Please don't blow it Neville. _The boy was shaking. Physically shaking where he stood, terrified of the man.

"Go on," said Snape impatiently.

"Sir, yesterday I heard some people talking...about...about horcruxes. And I went to the library, to the restricted section...and I couldn't find anything about them anywhere."

Snape stared at him in bewilderment. "What?!" he demanded. "I, and no professor at this school would know anything about such things. Of course there are no books available about them. Professor Dumbledore has removed them. Now GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! And do not _ever _let me catch you talking about such things ever again!"

One of the torches lighting the corridor snuffed out. Neville shook slightly under the weight of Snape's growl. But he didn't move or flinch.

Harry found he could breath again. Even Ron had taken a step back, and Harry had had to move with him to stop them from being revealed. _Come on Neville. _

Neville nodded. "It was...it was Harry talking about them. He overheard something. That's why I came to you."

Ron almost took a step forward, Harry clamped a hand over his friend's mouth before he could blurt anything out.

"You see Professor," Neville continued. "I don't want Harry to get involved in anything bad. You know?"

Snape took a deep breath. "I'm not sure what Mr. Potter has been hearing, but it's very dark magic."

"Which is why I came to you."

Snape stared at Neville for a moment, glancing around the corridor. "Is there someone else here? Lurking in the _darkness_, hiding from sight?" he loomed forward, reaching out blindly, almost hitting Harry before Ron pulled him back.

"No," whispered Neville swallowing. "No," he said strongly. "Harry doesn't appreciate snitches."

"Come in Longbottom," Snape finally said after a moment or two of silence. "We had better not discuss this here."

And that was it. Neville was on his own.

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"Dumbledore doesn't know for sure that You-Know-Who made horcruxes," murmured Hermione. "Maybe he did put a bit of his soul into something. But what?"

Neville shrugged. "It's clever. You split your soul and hide a bit in something else and then you can't die because it's earthbound and undamaged. That explains why he didn't die when he...well you know."

Ron nodded. "So why hasn't Dumbledore tracked down whatever it is that he put his soul into?"

Harry couldn't concentrate. Something wasn't right. He strode back and forth across the empty Charms classroom. "No. We need to know more about them."

Frustration was building inside him, he slammed a fist into a table, unsettling some dust and a spider scuttled from beneath it. Ron flinched as it ran past him and up into a crack between the stones.

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Dumbledore arrived during the mid-afternoon to take him to see some potions professor. And Harry had had enough. After no contact for a week after term broke up, nothing at all about horcruxes or the Dark Lord or anything but stay at home and be good, if he could call it a home, the man turned up out of the blue to go off on a fun adventure with him.

"I don't understand what's happening," hissed Harry. "I don't understand what's this thing with horcruxes. I don't understand, and I need to understand."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "I understand it's difficult Harry. But you must try to bear with me...I need to confirm some things, talk to some people."

"You suspect he made a horcrux don't you?" Harry asked. "So all we have to do is destroy it. Why let him carry on his regime of destruction, you know he's back. We all know he's back. So let's stop it now."

"No!" Dumbledore boomed. "I need to confirm a handful of things."

Harry stared at him in disbelief. "No. This isn't fair. You know what everyone tells me, I'm too headstrong. I do too much stuff on my own. I need help. Well so do you. Why won't you let us in. If it's me who's meant to do this shit I deserve to know what the hell's going on!"

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "You have to trust me Harry. Please. I know I've asked a lot of you, but trust me. I believe that Voldemort may have created horcruxes to avoid death and advance his aim of achieving immortality."

It took Harry a second to realise that he'd said horcruxes, plural. "You mean more than one?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Numbers have significance Harry. I think he's made more than one, yes. But I imagine that he's created three, seven or nine. All of their strengths."

"Is that all you're going to tell me? Not how to destroy them? Not what we can do next?"

Dumbledore smiled, and Harry hated him in that moment. "For now."

"Where are we going?" Harry called as the headmaster strode away.

The headmaster smiled. "Well we're going to walk a little way away from your home before we apparate to that potions professor's house, you know the one I told you about. Well at least that's where I'm going, are you going to come with me?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "Will it help?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I except so."

Harry followed.

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"Yeah, we're getting a new potion's professor," Harry finished. There honestly wasn't much to tell Hermione and Ron that evening at the burrow.

Hermione looked mildly interested. "Oooh, so what's happening to Snape?"

Harry groaned. "He's going to be the new DADA teacher."

Ron sat upright. "What, really? That _can't _be good!" he glanced at Harry. "Mate, I know you get on with him now. But he's still a greasy old git."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah I know. But what's worse is that the job's cursed. You know that. So he'll be dead, horrible traumatised or gone in some way within the year. That's probably why Dumbledore wouldn't give it to him before if he trusted him so much."

Hermione nodded. "The Prophet is being so sensationalist, there might not be a Hogwarts after next year."

Harry nodded grimly. "Maybe."

"But have you heard the latest gossip?" Hermione asked happily, folding her legs up beneath her on the bed.

"Enlighten us," Harry sighed wearily. Secretly he was glad for the distraction.

"Tonks and Remus. Seriously."

Harry stared wide mouthed at her. "Seriously?"

Hermione nodded wisely. "I know right. Dean and Ginny have broken up. Urm...Luna wrote me a lovely letter, apparently she is very attracted to you Harry."

"Who Luna?" asked Harry, bemused.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No keep up, Ginny! Luna and Ginny write to each other all the time. Anyway, anyone can see it."

"Do you mind not discussing my sister like that?" demanded Ron.

They laughed and joked for the rest of the evening, well at least until Mrs. Weasley came to tell them it might be a good idea to settle down at some point and get a nice night's sleep.

_HPHPHPHPHPHPHP_

Harry's birthday came around as it always did. Presents arrived from the Weasleys, from Hermione, Hagrid, even Snape sent a card. Albeit one that was pre-printed with no handwritten message, but a card all the same.

He also received a potions book from an unknown sender. It was worn and apparently from someone called _The Half Blood Prince. _Whoever that was. Apparently someone wanted him to continue with potions next year and Harry almost thought it was a joke. But Hermione convinced him to give it to Mr. Weasley first so that it could be scanned for curses.

There was also a card from Luna that arrived during the mid-afternoon.

It had an odd message in it.

Something about the diary having a bit in it, and about his connection and having a bit in him. And to remember what they'd talked about before term broke up, and looking forward to seeing him, and to think about this because maybe it was important.

A bit of what? What diary? Tom Riddles'? A random diary? And him?

Oh God.

A wave of nausea hit Harry like a ton of bricks.

And maybe she wasn't right. But he'd as good as told her this. And it was only now that it hit him.

Which is how Harry Potter came to wake up on the morning after his sixteenth birthday, with what would become just a few more scars, a banging headache, and laying beside a pile of his own vomit.

Because fuck them all. Dumbledore had to suspect. So why not?


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: I am so sorry for not updating for ages, this is a bit of a long one so hopefully that makes up for something? **(Personal Note: I've been super stressed recently due to exams, harassment by a male former 'friend'. But I'm doing good and writing! Yay) **Also you were right reviewers, this isn't finished. It's still ongoing, incomplete, but it will be completed. Please let me know how it's going, what you like, what you don't, tell me about my terrible grammar/ confusing syntax. _

_And I hope you're all good. This chapter has quite a bit of swearing, that some might find offensive though it is in context. Trigger warning for this chapter: self harm and suicidal thoughts expressed by some characters. A lot of sadness. _

_Enjoy x_

* * *

><p>St Mungo's has many many wards, far more than meets the eye, and many magical wards and charms protect those wards. Working at St Mungo's is rather like working in a nuclear factory. There is simply so much radiation, that there are precautions healers have to take, for example inbetween shifts there is a special break room that healers may go to, which is void of almost all magic bar the walls and door.<p>

But like any hospital, shifts can be long, and shifts can be doubled and tripled, and healers can go without sleep for inhumane periods of time. So the 'break room' is more a series of rooms where witches and wizards crash like Muggles, because their biology isn't that dissimilar to Muggles, and even they need down time.

It was early morning, and Nurse January's night shift was just about to end, when a patronus crashed through the window nearest the nurses' station and started shouting. He rarely got excited anymore, especially at an emergency call being made right at the end of his shift; simply because he knew his shift would now be extended and the overtime wasn't worth that much. No, maybe this excitement was a mixture of fear and adrenaline. Because no one used a patronus to carry messages, it was rather difficult, and it was just a little odd when there were other ways that were just as efficient and drained you a lot less.

Only one group of people used that, and they'd disbanded years ago. Well, not officially, but when You-Know-Who died there was no _need _for the group. There were aurors, the Ministry didn't need vigilantes running amok. Peter January had only been at Hogwarts during You-Know-Who's regime, he'd never even seen a patronus used as a message, but he'd heard about it. Oh Goodness he'd heard about it and the people who used them.

_The Order of the Phoenix. _

So many of them had died last time. This meant there were still some alive. Or there were new ones who'd been taught how to do it.

Everyone knew You-Know-Who was back, of course he was, personally Nurse January had suspected that two years ago when The Boy Who Lived's picture was plastered across the papers holding the corpse of another student...Cedric or Simon or something in his arms. Then a little more than a month ago it'd become publically accepted. You-Know-Who was back from the dead and the Ministry had already been attacked, a war had begun. Didn't he know it, working in emergency care.

But this made it even more real. There'd been rumours that old Dumbledore had started calling meetings again, that there were a few of the originals still around and that the ranks were potentially increasing.

_This was good. _

Then he remembered he worked in a hospital, and that this message was from a member of the Order who was in distress. That was a bit not good.

He only managed to catch a few words, "...Harry Potter...apparation a risk...stable otherwise...psychiatric...adolescent...prepare...will apparate soon...no floo..."

It was interesting, he thought, that the patronus was such a feminine one, yet the caster who spoke through it was clearly male. It was a remarkably solid patronus, a doe. And yet it looked almost lonely, as if it's stag was far far away.

Nurse January shook himself, what good was he if he got distracted with idle thoughts? He was knackered, but they were busy as it was, and he knew he was the only one on until three who dealt with psychiatric transfers.

Peter was Muggle born and he kept up to date with that world, and quite frankly he thought that Muggle mental health care was terrible and the wizarding world's equivalent was only slightly more progressive than forced ECT and beating the kinks out of a person.

So it was probably best if he hung around, especially if their celebrity turning up was going to cause them to require all hands on deck.

_HPHPHPHPHPHPHP_

"Right, Mr. Potter, we need to go over a few things with a guardian first. But I don't believe that's you Mr. Snape?"

Snape looked up. "Professor."

Peter resisted the urge to shudder uncontrollably, Snape hadn't taught him, but he knew of him, and hadn't really remembered that he was a teacher. Oh God they let this man lose near children. The man was legendary in the world of potion making, funny that, such a talented albeit troubled man, a reformed terrorist of sorts, dedicated himself to the flawed education system rather than to money making or the more noble act of a potion-making revolution.

He supposed he liked one thing about the wizarding world...in the Muggle world if you were tried for war-crimes, even if acquitted, it was damn hard trying to get a good job. Funny that, he thought, a couple of years back a huge scandal had caused parents and officials to complain because Dumbledore had hired a werewolf. But suspected terrorist and war-criminal, acquitted only because he changed sides fairly quickly, was fine.

What a world we live in.

"You are one of Mr. Potter's current teachers though?"

Snape had to pause for a moment to think. Then he remembered he was taking on the role of DADA teacher in the coming term and so definitely was even if Po-Harry didn't choose to continue with potions. Though he sincerely hoped his book might rouse something within the child. Then Snape realised that he could just lie anyway and no one would check, if they did it'd be with Dumbledore, and he'd lie too, and this was the wizarding world and proper paper work didn't exist (unless it was binding teenagers into death-sentence tournaments).

"Yes," he nodded, clasping and unclasping his hands. It was easier to inspect his perfectly filed fingernails, stained with years of handling various potions, than to look at the nurse or at his son.

That was a small mercy, Harry hadn't told the whole world that one yet. Nor had he yelled his head off about Horcruxes, though he seemed to have come close.

It almost made Snape sad. Even when he was in such a state (though really despite his panic; and he admitted he'd panicked, there was little wrong with the boy, after the original barely conscious bit, the whole bleeding thing, bit stoned, unending psychological scars), he'd held back.

Even crying, sobbing, out of his mind from whatever he'd taken and almost choking himself, he'd made sure to keep quiet. Because no matter how angry he was at Dumbledore, at Snape himself, at anyone, mention the word Horcrux and it'd be all over the papers.

And that would prove to the Dark Lord that they _knew_, and even if he suspected it (especially after the incident with the diary) he didn't know it. Certainty would give him a strength that Harry had seen and Harry knew not to provide.

Sixteen and he knew better.

Harry protected them, as always.

And Snape realised he was protecting him too, and that made him even sadder, because one word from Harry and everyone would know. And even if no one believed it, there would be doubt, and if there was doubt, he was dead.

Harry protected him.

And he could barely hear what the stupid nurse was saying, with phrases like 'in confidence' and something about 'muggle drugs'.

"Thank you for signing those, in any case- there will be a formal assessment and so on and so forth, can someone get you a cup of tea? Some clean robes perhaps?"

Snape realised that his were stained with vomit, possibly a bit of urine and definitely a little blood and ripped from his using the hems as bandages (he would've used the sleeves because he found they made for better ones, but he'd been in the midst of preparing some rather secret ingredients and he'd didn't want any traces of it being compressed into the boy's skin, when Petunia had called him).

"Yes," he nodded slowly. "Yes that would be good. And also, could I...do you have anywhere I can make a floo call?"

_HPHPHPHPHPHPHP_

Petunia Dursley didn't know if she'd done the right thing. Vernon had always been a bit...odd, a bit angry, middle class, snob, slightly racist and just a little homophobic- but she'd been working on him. And then her cow of a sister's brat turned up and he just got worse and so did she.

There was something about him that just made her squirm, it wasn't the magic- she'd been around that with Lily. She found herself resenting him, as if something wicked lurked inside him, something terrible that brought out the terrible within her. And sometimes, when he'd been gone a while, she realised it wasn't his fault and vowed to treat him in a better way. And then he came back. And then it was too late.

She felt bad, she mused, calling Lily a cow when she was dead. But that's how she'd seen her alive.

Had she done the right thing calling that freak? He'd sent her a letter, while Lily's boy was at school, a few curt words a phone number to call him on if anything happened. She'd lied to Vernon about who the letter was from, told him it was nothing to do with Harry, just some solicitor who'd found she'd been left a small amount of money from an obscure relative. That's why it was all in fancy writing with the fancy cursive script.

He'd sighed when she said it was only a couple of hundred and had told her it could go towards housekeeping. She'd gone out and brought herself a load of stuff she didn't need because shopping made her feel better.

She missed her cow of a sister, even if she didn't remember it, and she missed playing outside with the greasy little boy and her, and she missed all of it even if she'd been excluded most of the time. An evil supreme overlord had murdered her sister and her sister's partner (a man she didn't even know Lily was dating let alone married to). She had heard nothing from Snape since she was sixteen.

Forgive her if it rubbed salt in a few wounds that had never healed.

She'd kept the letter in her diary, pressed in-between two pages. Vernon had little respect for most things, but he did respect her privacy.

Now, as she lay beside his heaving and snoring body, she wondered what had happened to the handsome biggoted creature she fell in love determined to change him. When had he become a whale, when had their love become lifeless, the sex- sex that had been the closest she'd come to committing a magical act- the sex a distant memory?

She didn't even know wizards had phones, landlines or mobiles (most didn't, and Snape had been raised in a mainly magical environment and had spent a good solid week learning how to use a mobile; charging it was an issue and it was practically useless at Hogwarts but it served as a good means of communication with a few of his Muggle suppliers and most wizards were useless with them and therefore it ensured him almost perfect privacy from listeners in).

Petunia pulled the blankets slightly to try and get a few back. Nearly 24 hours had passed since she'd woken up to go to the bathroom, and had happened to hear that bloody owl of her nephew's squaking like it was being murdered.

Vernon could sleep through anything, she took sleeping pills; they didn't work.

She turned the other way, tugging at the throw and trying to get comfortable. 24 hours since she'd found her nephew on the floor, and had almost called 999. She wasn't a heartless bitch all the time, though when she'd become one, she didn't remember.

He was awake, barely conscious, and though she'd entered the room wanting to murder his bloody pet her caring instinct kicked in. Petuania had knelt down, in his vomit, and had rolled him over into the recovery position once she'd established he was breathing.

Then she'd run back into her bedroom, and searched for her mobile phone- a fancy flip-phone with a camera (all of her friends were jealous), they were also jealous of the fact that Vernon had a computer that connected to the internet. It had only become open to the public a year or so ago. She couldn't see it taking off.

But right now she didn't need to take a picture of the boy, right now she needed to call an ambulance because, she turned over again and decided she was too hot. Why couldn't she find a good temperature in this godforsaken house?

The landline was downstairs, her mobile was closer, she'd ran in, and Vernon hadn't even woken up (though when he did he yelled about the mess the boy had made), and in her scrabble she'd knocked her diary off the bed and then she remembered the letter.

The boy was a wizard, and here she had a phone number that'd take her directly to another one, and if he was their chosen one then surely they'd come. And maybe normal medicine wouldn't work on him, he'd fallen from great heights before and bounced. Maybe...

So she'd found the dislodged letter and called the number, and as it was ringing, ringing, ringing, she'd bruised her hip on the banister as she ran back to her nephew.

His wand, a funny looking bit of wood he carried around with him had rolled beneath his bed, and as she held her phone between her shoulder and ear she pressed it into one of his hands and curled his fingers around it. Maybe, maybe his magic was connected to it and it'd make him better or something, and even if it didn't, it did no harm.

Finally, when she thought she was going to get sent to voicemail, _he _had answered.

And Vernon had yelled about nutters turning up to his house, and she'd been _this _close to telling him she'd worked until Dudley was born and had paid for a good amount of the house and it was just as much hers as his.

He'd turned up within seven minutes, which she reasoned was quicker than the average ambulance response time, and he'd barged in and up the stairs and had done some weird thing with a spell and a doe or something and some funny thing or other and then he was going going taking the boy out of the house with her help.

God she'd been in her nightdress outside, her frontdoor wide open, and she'd helped him support the boy's weight. Down the street, with him muttering something about wards, and he was thanking her and muttering and then...he was gone with a crack and a spin.

If one freak wasn't enough the stupid headmaster with his stupid masterplan and his stupid greater good turned up a few hours later demanding to know why he hadn't been contacted, not that he'd ever given her anyway to contact him. Then another freak had turned up, and half the wizarding world (or so she thought) were in her house, and there were words like deatheaters and You-Know-Who and why would he do this?

What was she meant to do?

Everyone forgot about Petunia, as always, and so there was lots of shouting and she thought _I'm the one who found my nephew, _and she thought _No one cares if I'm ok_, because people think she's a heartless cow. She was, sometimes, but not constantly, and she _tried _to love the boy. She did. Honestly.

So she left the men shouting downstairs and went up to the bedroom to scrub out the stains and get rid of the smell. When she was done she reorganised all of the boy's books alphabetically, and folded his clothes and promised to buy him some new ones, and put everything straight and then she found the photo album.

Lots of moving photos of people she didn't know, with names and phrases that meant nothing beneath them, _Anne and Frank Longbottom, the whole order, your Mum and Dad, your Mum and you_, and she noticed that the Snape fellow wasn't in any of them, and there was a ginger man downstairs saying that even if Dumbledore trusted him _the Muggle _had let him take Harry and what if something happened?

_Someone check St. Mungo's, if Snape really is to be trusted he's there. If not..._

She had started to cry, and then one of the freaks, the one with the changing hair and the beautiful eyes had come up and had placed a cup of tea on the floor beside her (even those freaks couldn't mess up tea- though the chatty girl had blabbered on about elektriktik kettles and not understanding them), and had put a hand on her shoulder and had let her cry.

"It's his birthday you know," she half choked half sobbed. "It's his birthday."

_HPHPHPHPHPHPHP_

Narcissa Malfoy wasn't the most pleasant person in the morning's, but Snape knew he had to make contact with his _fellow _deatheaters before anyone suspected anything. He explained that he'd _had _to take Potter because he'd been called by Petunia after he'd been _forced _to give her a Muggle form of contact by _Dumbledore. _He'd acted fast, doing what would keep his cover with Albus and could she let Bellatrix know and she in turn the Dark Lord because it was crucial he be kept up-to-date with the boy's activity.

She'd nodded hurriedly and asked if there was anything she could do, and _where _was he? He'd been brief and quick and to the point, explaining he'd be in touch as soon as possible. That the boy was weak, fragile, broken and no match for the Dark Lord when the time came, because he was being saved- obviously, he almost choked on the words but he didn't though a funny feeling rose in his stomach as he insulted the boy.

Then he'd flooed Dumbledore, and had received an earful he didn't need. Why hadn't he come to one of them first? Why had he gone straight to St. Mungo's? _Maybe I saw a half conscious teenager with severe self-inflicted injuries and I thought hospital or Hogwarts which is probably empty...hospital or trying to find you when you might have been off gallivanting somewhere and not telling us as fucking usual. _

When he was done he told the porter who was waiting outside for him and was given a pair of clean robes and directed towards a bathroom.

He felt like he'd been gone forever, when he got back to Harry he could barely break through the masses that throbbed around him. Albus Dumbledore, all of the adult Weasleys, a werewolf, the werewolf's mate Tonker or Nymphie or something, some hospital official, Kingsley, a few others, it was overwhelming. The original nurse with the stupid name, January, pulled him aside.

"We're trying to clear them all out, but he says he's a ministry official-" he pointed at Arthur, "and he's some sort of secret something or other? Anyway he's a dragon something and has a badge, and he's Dumbledore, and there's this one...it's not helping; we managed to stop all of the underage turning up but they're clogging up the visitor waiting-room right now but this lot will all have to leave for the assessment anyway."

Snape nodded slowly. "Yes. Of course... Why are you telling _me_ this?" and suddenly fear filled him, had he revealed something he shouldn't? Did this man know something? Why was _he _getting special treatment? Was this special treatment? Paranoia swept over him in waves, like thousands of ants swarming over a sugar cube.

"Because they don't like you very much and probably won't bother telling you, and you're either a very good liar in which case kudos, You-Know-Who deserves you, or you care about him, in which case kudos, he deserves you," Peter paused. "This lot, they're the Order of the Phoenix? They talk too loud and two of them have called you a spy already. Do you want to go to a different room for the assessment? The kids and this lot will probably be put in our main waiting room- though three of them have been 'assigned' to guard the door."

Snape nodded, bewildered though he didn't show it. "Yes, thank you. That would be good."

"Nice scrubs Snape!"

He turned, Fred and George Weasley were stood by the bed, being annoying. He knew they joked more when they were scared, but God they were annoying. They made teachers' lives miserable. Snape glanced down at his robes, they were those of a medicare wizard.

The Dark Lord would be chuffed that he'd acquired them, he'd be able to pass them onto someone else for espionage purposes. Except they probably wouldn't allow him to take them, because they were very careful with who they handed robes to and they were specially made with funny little security measures charmed into the stitching.

"Thank you," he turned to the Nurse and met his eyes, they were deep and dark and brown. Such a plain little colour. James's had been more of a hazel. He didn't think he'd find anyone's eyes so beautiful again, yet there was a spark of beauty in those eyes, in the kindness of them. "Will you...will you stay with him?" he nodded towards the bed.

Peter paused. "A nurse be present, if you want that nurse to be me-"

Snape surveyed the bags beneath the nurse's eyes, he knew what being tired was, and it was certainly this. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked. This is just a job."

Peter shook his head. "It's probably best I stay, for continuity and stability for Harry."

"Of course."

_HPHPHPHPHPHPHP_

"Are you sure?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape paced the corridor. "I think it's a good idea. I can alter the formula but I do think medication might be a temporary solution."

"You are the potion master for a reason," Dumbledore shrugged. "Were even. Very well. And when are you visiting the Malfoys? Or are they going to your home?"

Snape glared at Dumbledore. "I can postpone the meeting if necessary and stay at Grimmauld Place. But Narcissa will arrive at mine in approximately fourteen hours. She says she has something to discuss with me, something that can't be discussed via floo."

"Good."

"I think it's got something to do with Draco."

_HPHPHPHPHPHPHP_

Neville Longbottom was still awake, it ten pm and he'd been awake for nearly thirty six hours. He placed a pink sweet wrapper on his desk and smiled slightly.

He'd been to see his Mum and Dad earlier that day, popped into see Lockhart. Had a chat with a nurse. Routine. Hadn't expected to see Harry there, he hoped he was alright; well as alright as he could be. He'd told his Mum about that, while the Nurse's were feeding his Dad.

"_My friend Harry's here. Harry Potter...he isn't well. Bit like you. But he'll get better._"

So much of a friend, sending Neville to do their dirty work, not even writing to him. Well he guessed he was used to it. At least Luna wrote to him, and Ginny sometimes.

It had been his birthday, the day before, and he'd visited then too. Being sixteen wasn't as fun as people made it out to be. Just a year closer to becoming an adult. As a special treat he'd visited twice in two days.

His parents were brave, that's what people said. They didn't visit them. Not like he did. They didn't see them, broken, laying there like the living dead, mumbling occasionally. No.

He always spoke to his Mum and Dad about everything, kept them up to date with what the Order were doing. Or at least what he knew about what they were doing, some stuff about school, maybe a thing or two about the Dark Lord.

_I love you, _he thought, pressing the sweet wrapper to his face. He had hundreds. She'd give them to him every time he visited. He'd told her about the horcruxes last time, he thought he'd seen a glimmer of something in their eyes.

But then he noticed there was something different about this one. It had...it had lipstick on it.

Every time he visited, he did his Mum's makeup. And he felt her smile, even though he knew she didn't. He combed her hair, and put on a little mascara and a little lipstick. That reminded him, he'd need to take a new set next time, the lipstick was running low. He'd only started doing that a few years ago, because it made her look pretty, like she had in the pictures. He felt it reminded her that she was human, that she was a woman.

He always put a little aftershave on his Dad, of course the nurses took care of most things, but these personal things. It made them people, not patients.

There was lipstick on this candy wrapper, and as he searched through the ones he had- he kept them in order from oldest to newest, he realised there was lipstick on almost all of the ones from the last year and slightly before that.

_Was it a letter? _

_Was she trying to give him a message? _

He began to unfold them, careful so not to smudge the lipstick (though it was- according to Witch Weekly-unsmudgeable) and putting them in the order he'd received them.

_HPHPHPHPHPHPHP_

Grimmauld Place was a strange place, even stranger with Sirius gone. Snape perched on the edge of Harry Potter's bed, and wondered if the others were enjoying doing whatever they were doing to keep them away from the room. Last time he'd checked Molly was arranging rooms, deciding that Ron should stay with Fred and George and co, because they were going to stay here tonight, but there was still a darn boggart in one of the rooms, and would Mad-Eye be staying the night or would he go home.

Snape didn't know whether or not it was..._fair _that they were all swanning about in Black- now Harry's home. Especially when they'd left him all alone in the Muggle world. Who had thought that was a good idea? Molly cleaning the old place up, all of them pottering about and then Potter shows up and they're all over him. When he wants to be left alone they're there, when he needs them they're not.

Snape knew he was being harsh, that these people loved Harry. But sometimes, he wondered what gave them the right? When he had to lie and pretend and not even get to enjoy watching his first Quidditch game because he was too busy saving his son's life and having his robes set on fire by Granger. Why did they, strangers, get the right to love Harry when he wasn't allowed? Did his sins wipe out all the good he ever did?

There had been a meeting of the Order, Snape thought that was bad. They hadn't learnt anything new nor had they had one scheduled for another half a week. Yet they called one for the sole reason that Harry Potter had flown into a spiral of self-destruction they didn't understand because they were all damaged just like him and decided that he was their secret weapon their sacrificial lamb and half of them wanted what was best for him and the other half thought they did and...

What pressure would that put on Harry? Oh wonderful, the entire Order scheduled a meeting just to discuss your mental health Harry. Don't worry about it.

"Why?" he asked quietly, directing the question at Harry, rather than at Dumbledore- though he'd have liked to ask him the same thing. "Oh you ridiculous child," he felt like maybe he should touch Harry's hair or something, but he wasn't really used to this whole loving thing.

"A moment of madness, yes Harry?" Dumbledore said. He was sat on a white painted chair, it looked as if it was incredibly old, and it usually housed a good deal of Harry's clothing when he came to stay.

"A moment that's lasted a long time?" demanded Snape, he forced himself to lower his voice. "Harry...I thought you'd stopped? I thought you were going to be talking...we agreed on a set of conditions."

_You weren't going to hurt yourself. You weren't going to get drunk as a coping mechanism. You weren't going to do stupid stupid things you stupid irrational boy. So like James. Always rushing, never pausing to think. _

"Self harm is not the answer Harry, I know it's hard. And we will support you, no matter what the problem is," Dumbledore said slowly. His eyes didn't twinkle so much now.

"Harry, it's ok to feel down," Snape added though he wasn't quite sure if he believed what he said. "But this isn't how we..."

"And what if I don't want to stop? What if I _like_ this?!" Harry demanded. "I _like_ seeing my blood. You said this was about me, that Voldemort wasn't important! You said, when some fucking wizards said I could go home, and I didn't know where home was. You said Harry, for now think about you. Well maybe I like it? Maybe I enjoy this! Maybe I don't want to stop!"

Snape paused, yes, that was an issue. "Self destruction gains nothing Harry. Will you stop acting like a spoilt child."

"Severus!" Dumbledore snapped. "Harry I can't believe you mean that..."

"Maybe I do! Maybe I don't!" Harry muttered. "I don't know. You're the ones who said be selfish, think about yourself, well maybe this is what I want? Maybe I want to die because I've overdosed."

"Harry you smoked weed, I'm surprised your relatives didn't smell it. You got pissed and smoked weed, hard to overdose on weed and liver damage- do you really want to go like that? Or choking on your own vomit?" Snape ran a hand through his hair shaking his head.

Dumbledore leant back on his chair.

"Harry, I won't lie," Snape knew it'd be much much easier for him to lie. "You are important to the fight against the Dark Lord, heck there's a prophecy about you. But you're not crucial, because 'neither can live while the other survives', you die, and we don't have you. But there are other ways. The fight continues. And as your father- I don't want that. But I will carry on, because I've lost everyone, and if I lose you, then I have no one, and I will continue and I will fight because I will not let the Dark Lord get away with that."

There was silence. It seemed to last decades.

Harry shoved himself up on his elbows, there was a bandage around Dumbledore's hand. "Did you burn your hand Professor?"

Dumbledore looked taken about, he cradled the damaged hand in the other. "What? No- nothing for you to worry about Harry."

_Why did you send him back to the Dursleys? _thought Snape. _Take him to fetch Slughorn, bring him to the Burrow, tell him he needs to pop on back over there for a short while, and then bring him here to the home of his dead godfather? Where was the logic?_

"That's what you lot keep saying!" Harry protested. "Nothing to worry about, just stay calm, just do this, just be a foot soldier. I know!" he heaved. "I know," he sniffed.

"Know what Harry?" Dumbledore leant forward. "What do you know?"

Harry rubbed his forehead, his scar tingled, it seldom felt nothing, but it wasn't too painful yet. "I don't know."

"You're not making sense!" said Snape.

Dumbledore frowned. "No, what do you know Harry?"

"I know that...I know...I know that I'm a horcrux."

Snape heard the barely audible gasp of Dumbledore inhaling sharply, both of them were good at hiding their emotions, but he was slightly better than the older wizard.

Harry began to sob. "And I don't know what I want. I don't want to die...but I do...and I have to don't I? I don't know and it hurts...I kill everyone I love...I just...I don't...I just- there's no happiness? You know? There's nothing. Sometimes, when I'm playing quidditch, or when I'm high as a kite, or when I'm just walking down a corridor I feel alive, I feel invincible and incredible as if I can do anything, I can fight the Dark Lord and win with my hands behind my back. And then sometimes...there's just nothing. And then sometimes I wish I were dead. But I don't know."

Snape managed an awkward hug, Harry finished it for him, throwing himself at the man and squeezing him tightly sobbing into his chest and nearly flattening him. "Oh Harry," he murmured. "We'll take this step by step."


End file.
